


Got Them Screaming

by egbert



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egbert/pseuds/egbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless porn; a pre-existing relationship and one Dave Strider who can't keep his hands to himself, even during a rehearsal dinner for a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Them Screaming

They are meant to be at the rehearsal dinner; Dave is giving away the bride, doubling as the maid of honour, and should really be there to give some sort of shitty toast about how happy he is for her, what married life will be like for Kanaya, and how happy he hopes they'll be. But he's otherwise distracted, you see, because he has moments. Brief ones. Where he looks at his boyfriend, feels a little awed by the fact that he managed to get this fucking lucky, and often has the need to show him just how lucky he feels.  
  
Which is basically why they're in their current situation.  
  
Dave has John facing a wall, one hand bracing himself while Dave curls around him from behind, one arm around his waist, keeping him steady in case John decides he can't keep his weight balanced on his arm anymore. Dave's hand is already busying itself, palm pressed tight to the front of John's slacks to rub his growing erection through the fabric. Egbert has his head bowed forward, panting out Dave's name as he tries not to move his hips too much.  
  
But really, Dave's having none of that.  
  
He presses his lips to the back of John's neck, lingers before biting down lightly just below his hair, and the shaking exhale that follows from John is enough to pull a smirk to his face. Satisfied with the reaction, he curves his fingers, practically stroking him through his pants while John presses forward every so often. He doesn't want to seem so damn needy, but whenever Dave touches him, he manages to get him down to being some sort of desperate, hormonal kid.  
  
Not wanting to fall into the pattern so soon, his fingers dig against the wall as he curls his hands into fists, and-  
  
And then Dave's undoing his pants, popping the button, dragging the zipper down, reaching inside his boxers to pull his dick out and-  
  
 _and-_  
  
John breathes out hard, bucks his hips forward against the hand that immediately starts stroking him, and he can feel Dave grinning against his neck as he places strategic bites and licks across his skin, knowing he's trying not to leave marks behind. As much as Dave often likes to, it wouldn't do any good to come back to the party covered in hickeys left behind by his best friend. Boyfriend. The world doesn't feel foreign in his head like it used to, feels a bit more normal now, after years of becoming accustomed to it.  
  
(Truth be told, he still isn't entirely sure how it even happened. Just seemed like the right thing to do, and suddenly it was, and neither of them had looked back since.)  
  
Reminiscing is for another time, though. Mostly because his thought process blanks when the arm that had once been around his waist dips down inside his boxers as well to cup his balls while skilled fingers pump along his achingly hard erection. Dave's wrist twists occasionally, thumb swiping across the tip of his cock while he strokes him, John making the smallest noise in the back of his throat. Because every time that wrist moves, his opposite hand squeezes his balls and the combined sensation makes the blood pound deafeningly loud in his ears.  
  
There's a whole lot of whispered _Dave_ 's and _fuck_ and occasionally there's the soft murmur of a Southern drawl, pushing John on, _c'mon, Egbert, don't be disappointin' me now_.  
  
It's only when John's hips snap forward into Dave's grip that he gives in, and Dave pulls his hand from John's slacks despite the whimpered protest at the loss of a touch.  
  
Dave's hands rest on John's hips but don't stay stationary for very long; instead, he dips his fingers under the edge of his pants to tug them down over his hips, letting them drop however far they want once he has ample view of his favourite plush rump. Dave can't resist, brings both hands up to grope one cheek each, and the resulting squeak from John is almost enough to be fucking hilarious if he wasn't so god damn turned on right now.  
  
And, as though John needs more incentive to let this happen, Dave presses flush against him, aligns their bodies and grinds against him from behind. It's only when John moans, the sound sending a surge of blood straight to Dave's dick, that he presses his lips against John's ear. He groans against it when he rolls his hips forward again, voice dropping lower, and John thinks it makes him sexier than he has any right to be.  
  
"Bet you want it, huh? That you're basically fuckin' aching for my dick to be inside of you. Have you whinin' like it's the best fuck you've ever had, watch you try so damn hard to be quiet so no one finds us. Finds me balls deep inside of you, making you sing like a fuckin' choir boy." One of Dave's hands moves from his hip down, caresses the curve of his ass before he brings his fingertips down across the cheek, the slap stinging his fingertips. John brings a hand down to cover his mouth and the whisper that results from Dave's hand leaving a print across his ass.  
  
Dave can't help but glance down, his opposite hand glidig up along the length of John and smirking when he's fucking _dripping_ with precome. Dave nips his earlobe, licking up along the crest of his ear. "Yeah, fuck, that's right. Get so damn turned on that you forget where we are and start moaning my name like a whore, sayin' it all damn filthy."  
  
The promise in his voice is something that John has become so damn familiar with and the shiver that runs down his spine and rakes over his nerves is something that he can't compare to anything else in the world. Because it's Dave, it's raw and desperate and it's his best friend and this incessant fucking _ache_ for him that John can never seem to get rid of.  
  
Not that he'd ever want to, but-  
  
Thoughts are cut short when Dave's pulling away, voice gone, but John doesn't protest. The guarantee of something so much better was made and Dave never does disappoint him.  
  
Dave doesn't take long to deliver, tugs his own slacks open and frees his cock, a groan of relief escaping. He strokes himself once, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip that he tastes copper, not wanting to make a noise. Only then does he rifle through the many pockets inside his suit jacket before producing a small test-sized tube of lubricant. It's enough for one fuck, knows this from experience, and Dave rips the top of the foil package open with his teeth, squeezing the contents into the palm of his hand. He tosses the empty pack onto a nearby table, coats two of his fingers and spreads the remainder across his painfully hard length.  
  
The amount of self control he possesses is fucking something he should be nominated to sainthood for, because the view of John's perfect ass in front of him is enough to make Dave want to say screw it and fuck him without much prep. But he's not cruel, and the last thing in the world he wants is to ever hurt John. But-  
  
 _Well_ , part of him knows they need to be quick, so maybe there is a little urgency when he leans down to press his lips against the base of John's spine, one of his slick fingers dipping between his cheeks to press against his entrance. He probes at it, coats it with the excess lube on his fingers, and only then does he dip a finger inside of him. He can feel John going rigid on instinct, squeezing around his finger, and Dave kisses further up his back. "Relax, dude. Spread your legs a bit for me, alright? Just chill."  
  
John exhales at Dave's words, and it takes a moment or two, but his muscles begin to relax, and John shifts his feet apart as far as he can with his stupid pants around his damn ankles. It's only when he does that, when he actually relaxes, that Dave slips his finger in to the knuckle, curls it as he drags it back out, and John brings his hand up to muffle the sound he makes.  
  
(It only makes Dave more determined to have John completely forget where they are so he might actually let him hear him properly.)  
  
He does his best to speed up the process of getting John ready, not wanting to waste time that could be spent actually fucking him. Once two fingers slide into him without a problem, once Dave curls them and watches John's back bend and curve under the desire, he finally decides that it's seriously e-fucking-nough.  
  
He shrugs his jacket off, smears lube across it from his hands and could not give less of a fuck. Not when he's edging closer, pressing the tip of his dick against John, the anticipation is fucking _murder_ , but he takes his god damn time; sinks the head in and John squeezes around him already, pulling a breath of a groan from Dave before he slides in the rest of the way, takes his time to push in until he can grind against him to try and get deeper.  
  
There's a pause, a moment where Dave has to reign his control in, hands resting on John's bare hips, because he really just wants to-  
  
"Fuck me-"  
  
Dave's not entirely sure he heard him right, that the hushed voice just said what he thinks he did. Dave's fingers flex against Johns hips, nails digging in against his skin, leaving marks behind. He's silent for a moment, makes sure his voice is steady before he speaks, "Again. Say it again."  
  
He can see the muscles in John's shoulders flex as he steels himself for what he says, voice a fraction louder than before. " _Fuck me_."  
  
"Yeah," Dave breathes it out, exhales, "Yeah, alright."  
  
And who is he to deny him? When has he _ever?_  
  
His hips move, pulls half way out before he rocks back in again. Takes it slow the first few thrusts, and it's only when John makes this insistent fucking _whimper_ that he actually picks it up. It's reminder, really. That they don't have all the time in the world. Not like they're fucking at home; no, definitely not. They're down some deserted hallway, a million turns away from the dining hall that the dinner is being held in, and Dave's fucking him like they have all the time in the world.  
  
The realization hits him and Dave stops fucking hesitating. He doesn't have the luxury of it right now.  
  
So he moves just a bit, presses his chest to John's back to overlap him, not a breath left between them. Only then does he curl his hand around John's cock and stroke him, moves in time with his thrusts that pick up in tempo the longer he fucks him.  
  
Dave bends back away from him, still fucking him despite the movement, and only does it so his free hand can come down across John's ass once again. The red across the cheek he'd come down across before isn't as bright as it had been, so he repeats it, snaps his fingers across John's ass as he fucks him deep, grinds against him every fre thrusts. It's only when this starts, when the _crack_ of a slap echoes through the hall that John really starts making noise.  
  
When he gets so god damn vocal.  
  
And maybe Dave should point it out, maybe he should be covering his mouth, but his hands are just so fucking _occupied_ right now, that he really can't be fucked to say much of anything at all. Instead, he palms one of John's cheeks, bright red from Dave's hand, and strokes him until John is panting for breath beneath him.  
  
Dave bends down, gets all up close to his ear again and murmurs against it, all fucking soft. "Ready to come yet, baby?"  
  
John can only nod, can't find words that aren't _fuck_ and _Dave_ and _please_ so he just stops trying to search for them. The nod is enough agreement for Dave, spurs him on, and he speeds it up, fucks him as hard as he can, hips snapping forward to drive into him over and over again, and the tight heat that meets him is so god damn blinding most of the time.  
  
Attempting to keep pace with him, John can't decide if he wants to rock back into Dave's thrusts or fuck his hand until he's coming. Instead, he ducks his head, and begs him; says Dave's name so fucking filthily, like he needs him more than _anything_ , and clenches down so damn tight around his cock as he fucks him.  
  
Dave does his best to hold out, tries to grip onto John like it'll help, but he's coming undone faster than he can clutch onto something to keep him grounded. The rhythm he'd once created is lost as his movements become increasingly erratic, his hand losing the tempo as well, wrist twisting along him to try and drag John over the edge with him.  
  
It's only when John's lips part and he moans his name, cries it out and fucks the tight fist around his cock as he comes that Dave allows himself to let go as well.  
  
Dave drops is forehead between John's shoulders, both of them moving through their orgasms, fucking into their own tighttight _tight_ heat. John can't bare to watch as he spills across the wall he's bent in front of, some of his come dripping onto the floor in front of him while Dave just barely thrusts inside of him, coming deep.  
  
Both of them stand, unmoving, catching their breath and trying to keep standing despite the physical exertion they both experienced. Dave presses a kiss between John's shoulders, pulling his hand away after a moment as John groans from the sensitivity. They stand like that for a moment until Dave is sure he has his balance, and pulls out of him with a wet sound, swallowing back a groan when he hears it.  
  
Dave kisses his shoulders again, bites gently and smirks against his skin. "Hey."  
  
"Hi," John answers, quiet. His arms are shaking.  
  
Dave's smirk turns to a bit of a grin against him, "I just fucked you at Lalonde's rehearsal dinner." He says it all fucking smug, like it's this huge thing to be proud of, and John just reaches back to smack his arm until Dave pulls away, laughing under his breath at his apparent accomplishment.


End file.
